Jeffmads Angst
by libbiliboo
Summary: Just as the title suggests. Trigger warnings for self-harm, homophobia, alcoholism and suicide.
1. Freak

**Okay, trigger warnings for self-harm, homophobia, suicide and all that. If you ever think about suicide, just don't. You're worth so much more than you realise and so many people love you, even though it probably seems like you're all alone. Get some help, just talk to someone. There's so many sites where you can talk anonymously to someone, just don't end your life. YOU ARE WORTH SOMETHING. Okay, little rant over. Let's get on with this angst. Of course, it's Jeffmads.**

888888

James Madison was a freak, plain and simple. There was no point denying it. Everyone knew it, everyone saw it, everyone whispered and snickered about it. It's okay, though. He knew it, too. He was unnatural. See, he liked boys. Weird, right? Everybody else seemed to think so. James was beginning to believe what they said as well.

 _Freak._

 _Fag._

 _Fatty._

 _Weirdo._

 _Mad hatter._

 _Just go die, will you?_

James sobbed quietly, his hands pressed hard over his mouth in an attempt to silence the sounds of his anguish as so not to wake his mother. Not that really it really mattered: she was in an alcohol-induced stupor. She wouldn't be awake until at least tomorrow morning. A broken razor, smashed with the blade lying next to it sat on the grimy bathroom floor. A thin sliver of light filtered in through the tiny window and bounced off of the shiny metal of the blade.

James was sat propped up on the ancient ceramic bathtub, his knees drawn up to his chest as his feet splayed in different directions. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a simple white vest top that exposed his muscles, but of course he couldn't see that. All he saw was fat, fat, fat, most of it non-existent.

Lurching forward, he swiped up the blade, his skin itching to be cut open. He deserved it after all, didn't he?

James didn't cut his wrists. He thought it a little obvious, plus it would mean having to always wear longs sleeves and having the always make sure they weren't rolled up. No, he cut behind his knees and under his arms, places where no-one would look. No-one will question someone who always wears jeans, because most do. He didn't want any more attention than he already got.

Straightening his leg in anticipation, he grasped the thin silver blade, the edge digging into the skin of his finger a little. The pain was freeing. Invigorating, even. Slashing behind his knees, he sighed with relief as the blood ran down his leg, a bright oxygenated red next to his dark chocolate skin. He smiled a little to himself, resting his head on the bath as he thought about his crush.

That's right, he had a crush. That crush was ever so popular, probably richer than James' entire family combined, and incredibly _beautiful._ He had light mocha skin, pearly white teeth, a dark shadow of a beard and huge poofy hair that most people would kill for.

His crush was Thomas Jefferson.

James' knee gave a sudden lurch of pain, bringing him out of his thoughts. As he came back to reality, he heard his mother stirring outside. Leaping up, he snapped the window open and threw the broken razor out of it after checking nobody was walking by. He turned on the shower, pulling off his vest and plunging his upper half into the icy water, frantically rubbing at the still trickling blood on his leg. Shutting off the water, James grabbed the longest towel he could find and tied it round his waist, making sure it hid the new cuts as well as the old ones. As long as he kept his arms down, she wouldn't see the ones on his arms. She didn't need that sort of worry: it would only give her another reason to drink.

"Mum?" he called, careful to keep his tone even and jovial. "You awake?"

All he got was a grunt in reply, which was enough. Opening the door, he saw his mother leaning drunkenly against the wall, a bottle of vodka clutched loosely in her hand. She was in a sorry state: her hair was lank and greasy, her lipstick scrawled over her cheek and her clothes stained almost beyond recognition. Even leaned up against the wall, she was swaying.

"Jamie?" she slurred, resting her hand on her shorter son's head. James was very short for 16, only 5' 4", and it didn't look like he was going to be growing anytime soon.

"It's me, Ma," he replied in a kind voice. "Maybe we should wash your hair, yeah?"

She nodded, clearly in a distant land. James rushed to his room, slamming the door and pulling on a pair of joggers over his shorts. Zipping up his hoodie, he entered the hallway and picked his mother up as if she were a small child. It scared him how light she was, her bones prominent. They ate enough, James' job at the local diner, the movie theatre and the florist combined with the benefits ensured that, but the alcohol was wasting her away, bit by bit, little by little eating away at her mental faculties. He felt a tear form in his eye, but blinked it away.

He set the water running, sitting Eleanor on the closed toilet seat. Luckily, there was no blood on the floor.

"No cold," Eleanor said in a timid voice, wrapping her arms around her thin body and shivering as if to prove her point.

"It's not cold," James said softly, holding his hand out to her. She crept forward like a scared animal, sliding off of the toilet seat and kneeling next to her son. "Feel. It's warm, isn't it?"

She repeated his actions as he swirled the water with his fingers, giggling at the warmth. _She's like a toddler_ , James thought. Sadness stirred deep within him as he stripped his mother down to her underwear, lowering her into the warm water. Reaching for the old mould-infested jug, he poured water over her head. He squeezed the 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner into his hand, massaging it gently into her scalp.

"Close your eyes," he told her before washing the shampoo out of her hair, watching the bubbles mingle with the now cloudy water.

"Out," she said in a stubborn way when James put the jug down. Admitting defeat, he lifted her out, wrapped her in a towel and carried her to her room, drying her hair before leaving her to sleep.

Trudging back to the living room, he lit a couple of a candles to introduce some light to the room. Their electricity had been cut off almost a month ago when James couldn't afford it anymore, opting to pay for water, heat and food instead of light. Anything perishable was kept in the old camping coolbox. He could get relatively cheap light from candles. They both had mobile phones, yes, but that was only because when James' grandfather had died last year and left them $3500, James had decided to treat them. He had paid a few months' rent in advance, then gone out and got two pay-as-you-go phones. His mother, being pretty sober at the time, had insisted he get a half-decent phone for himself. So she ended up with a button Nokia and he had a second-hand IPhone 5C. The pay-as-you-go was $10 dollars a month for each of them, cheap enough for them to afford.

Grabbing the letters, with _urgent_ stamped on in imposing red ink, he ripped them open in dread. They were just like most: _bill overdue_ , _if not paid next month will be cut off_. Dropping his head into his hands, he began to sob.

What was he going to do?

888888

He walked to school the next morning.

On other day, he would've taken the free school bus, but he wanted to clear his head after the night before. Plus, it meant that he could leave the house as early as he wanted and get to school before everyone else, avoiding the bullies. He could hide in his toilet stall until homeroom at 8 a.m. The walk took roughly half an hour, so he left at half 6, giving his mother a quick kiss on the forehead before silently closing the door and heading towards school.

The cuts from the night before rubbed against the material of his loose black skinny jeans, sending small spikes of pain up and down his leg. Not that he cared; he liked the pain. Checking his timetable, he groaned when he saw that he had gym first. _Please, please, please don't let me have Washington_ , he prayed. Washington was nice enough, but he was a sucker for rules, and whilst the other teachers would let them wear joggers, Washington forced them to wear the school shorts.

He was near school now. His battered old Adidas that he'd found for $10 in a charity shop crunched on the gravel as he ran down the school drive, sprinting straight to his stall in the bathroom and locking the door, sliding down the graffittied wall. All of the messages were addressed to him.

Pulling out the book he was currently reading, a copy of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ he had got for free from a yard sale, he opened it at the point he was up to, beginning to immerse himself in the fantasy world.

 _He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet again, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily._

 _"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me- I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated._

 _"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" said Fred at once. "What were they talking about?"_

 _"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."_

 _"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," said Fred._

Before he knew it, the bell rang shrilly and he was scrambling to gather his things, grabbing his books from his locket before running to homeroom.

James made his way to the very back corner of the room, sitting down ans attempting to remain inconspicuous. No-one sat in front of him, in the seat next to him, or on the desk directly next to his. It was as if he were as plague to be avoided at all costs.

"James?" their teacher, Mr Washington (he taught debate as well as gym, and was James' homeroom teacher) called monotonously.

"Here, sir," James replied, barely audible. Washington looked up momentarily, but upon seeing James focused back on his computer.

"Louder next time please, Mr Madison," he said, sending a ripple through the room. James slid lower in his seat. "Monroe?"

"Oi, Mad Hatter!" Hamilton jeered as the bell went for first period. James had been trying to make a sneaky exit, but now sighed and turned to face the Caribbean teenager. As usual, he was flanked by his buddies Hercules Mulligan, John Laurens and Marquis de Lafayette (although he stood behind a bit, looking guilty). James had long ago dubbed them the Hamilsquad.

"What do you want, Alexander?" he asked, his eyes glued to the floor. His hand rested protectively on his satchel. Alex opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, James bolted out of the door and ran all the way to gym.

 _Alexander isn't that bad_ , he thought as he joined the back on the boys' queue, panting a little. The boys at the back, a gaggle of nerdy kids, shuffled forward a bit, not wanting to be associated with the freak. True, Alex had instigated the Mad Hatter insult, but he wasn't homophobic. Everyone knew that John Laurens and Hamilton were totally doing it, but no-one questioned it. They both relatively popular, so everyone overlooked it. James didn't have such luck.

They filed inside, and as James was about to enter the toilet stall to change (the other boys claimed that they didn't want him 'perving' on them) he felt a hard shove on his back. Stumbling forward, he nervously turned around to see who had pushed him. He groaned a little when he saw John Adams, Charles Lee and... his heart skipped a beat as he lay eyes on Thomas Jefferson. He was wearing a tight magenta t-shirt, which showed off his muscles perfectly, and his hair brushed his face, framing his sleek yet slightly bulky black glasses. James could've sworn that he flashed him a pearly-white smile, but it was probably a grimance.

"Hey, freak," Lee sneered. "Get some last night, did you?"

"No," James replied in a timid voice, unable to take his eyes off of Thomas.

"Ewwwwww!!" Adams suddenly squealed, taking an exaggerated step backwards. "The fag is checking out Tommy!"

The whole locker room seemed to burst out in screams of laughter, and Thomas' face flushed as he looked downwards. James felt tears come to his eyes.

"Awwww, is the babba gonna cry?" Lee cooed cruelly. "Poor creepy babba!"

"Can we go?" Thomas asked quietly, his Southern lilt thick. His voice was like music to James' ears, but he still hurried into his stall, locking the door firmly. Even inside here, where he felt relatively safe, he could here them making fun of him. He got changed into his old grey joggers and the red school t-shirt, lingering until it sounded like everyone had gone. Stepping out, he suppressed a groan when he saw Mr Washington standing there, arms folded over his chest.

"You can take _those_ off," he said, motioning to the joggers. James trudged back to the stall, slowly changing into the shorts and pulling up the black socks as far as they would go to hide the cuts. He checked them quickly before pulling the socks over them. They were red, swollen and hot to the touch, clearly becoming infected. He came back out of the changing room, and followed Washington to the sports hall.

They were doing dodgeball today, one of James' most hated sports. He was always last to be picked, and everyone aimed for him, even his own team. Washington had them running around the hall to warm up, and James was so absorbed in thinking about Thomas and his mother and the overdue bills that he didn't realise that his socks had pulled down, revealing the cuts, until Charles Lee announced it to everyone.

"Look, the freak cuts himself!" he shrieked, pointing directly at James as if no-one knew who he was talking about. James swivelled around, his face as pale as it could go, trembling like a leaf. Washington was giving him a sympathetic look, but everyone else was laughing, or at the very least giggling. Lee continued to jeer until Washington bellowed:

"Drop it, Charles!"

Lee fell silent, but James, who had been frozen in one spot, had regained control of his muscles and sprinted out of the hall, into the bathroom stall in the changing rooms, out of sight, away from the cruel, laughing people that hated him so much...

Hot tears slid down his face as he slumped in the stall, his hands obsessively scratching at the inflamed cuts. He heard the door open softly, and someone pad over to the toilet stall, knocking on the door.

"Go away!" he yelled hoarsely, curling into a ball.

"I'm not going away, son," Washington's voice came. It was softer than James had ever heard, and it somehow reminded him of his father, who had died just 3 years ago. He sobbed harder at the memories of his happy family, before his mother was an alcoholic and he was a stressed 16-year-old on the border of madness.

"I'm not coming out," he found himself saying. "Not with them near."

"They're not here," Washington replied. "It's just me, James."

"It's Madison."

"I'm sorry?"

"Not James. Madison. Mad Hatter. Freak. Fag. Take your pick."

Washington gasped quietly as James drove his fist into his stomach, whimpering at the pain despite himself.

"You need to come out at some point."

James flicked the lock, walking out suddenly. His face was tear-stained, and he glared at Washington with a passion.

"Happy?" he hissed. "Now, I'm getting changed and going to English."

And he pushed past Washington to grab his clothes.

888888

English was disastrous, to say the least. Rumours flew around like jumbo jets, and everyone seemed to know about James'... um... issue. There was no to the stares, the strange looks, the judging eyes.

 _"Lee says he cuts himself..."_

 _"On the back of the knees! He can't even cut himself like a normal person..."_

 _"Ran to the changing rooms, the wimp..."_

 _"I heard he yelled at Mr Washington..."_

Mrs Washington (Mr Washington's wife) shot him a pitying look as soon as he walked in, but he ignored her as he took up his regular seat at the back. The rest of the class filed in, whispering to each other.

James was fond of Martha Washington, and she was fond of him. She treated him like a normal person, and had helped him in more than one sticky situation. She was his mother figure, really, and he felt almost as if he'd let her down.

"Today, you have a paired assignment," she announced at the start of the lesson. Many peoples' faces split into evil grins. "I have picked your partners for you."

Everyone groaned as she began reeling off names. "Thomas Jefferson, you're with James Madison," she said. James could barely contain his excitement as Thomas' friends pretended to throw up, shoving the taller boy towards his partner.

"Hey," Thomas murmured, looking at his fingernails.

"H-hey," James squeaked.

"So what do we have to do?"

James immediately began to ramble on about how they had to take a Shakespeare play and rewrite at least 3 scenes in modern English, and then act it out. Thomas nodded along, not really listening, but as he reached over the desk, he accidently brushed his fingertips against James' shoulder. James froze instantly, watching in horror as Thomas pulled out a portable hand sanitiser and squeezed the gel onto his hand, disinfecting the entire area of skin that had touched James. At that moment, James knew that he was going to have to do it.

After leaving class, he went to his toilet stall and didn't leave until the bell signalled the end of the day.

888888

After school, he headed to the shady back alley near his house, where he knew all the drug dealers hung about, waiting for business. He could feel the $50 he'd been hiding in his locker for the last month or so in his pocket as he slipped into the alleyway. Instantly, 3 scruffy men emerged from the shadows; one of them held a gun.

"Whaddya want, kid?" the one with the gun said gruffly, waving the weapon threateningly. "Pot? Coke? Make it quick, we ain't got all day, 'ave we?"

"20 Vicodin, please," James said, sounding much braver than he felt. The men exchanged a few strange looks, but threw him an orange bottle, which he caught with some trouble.

"25 bucks, buddy," another growled, and the gun was waved at him again. He shoved $30 into one of the outstretched hands.

"Keep the change," he murmured, heading home.

Once inside, he didn't bother to lock the door. No-one at school knew his address, and his mother would be too drunk to remember how to use a key when she got back. It was Happy Night at the bar, she wouldn't be back until midnight at the very least. Everything was set, everything was ready. All he had to do was do it.

Before he started, he grabbed some paper, the back of a bill, and scribbled a quick note.

 _Mum, it's not your fault. Look after yourself._

 _Thomas Jefferson. I know you probably hate me, but I just want to let you know that I love you with all my heart._

 _No-one will see this, most likely. I have my reasons for this._

 _Goodbye_

 _James Madison_

Unscrewing the bottle, he eyed the small white pills. Would this really work? Reassuring himself that it would and reminding himself that this was the best thing to do, he tipped the bottle into his mouth, swallowing the pills with a gulp of vodka from the open bottle on the makeshift coffee table (a milk crate). Already feeling woozy, he staggered to the kitchen, seizing a knife. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, and plunged the knife deep into his wrist. He watched in fascination as the blood ran down his arm and dropped onto the carpet, joining the plethora of stains.

His last thought was of Thomas before he felt himself falling backwards and the world turned black.

 _Meanwhile..._

Thomas walked up the third flight of stairs, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He'd bugged Charles Lee and managed to get Madison's address. Something felt terribly wrong to Thomas, and he wanted to make sure. No-one needed to know, right? He knocked when he found the right number. No answer.

"Hey, James, I-" he said as he opened the door to Madison's flat, but it was cut off by a scream when he saw James' limp body. He was soaked in blood, and when Thomas ran over and felt his pulse, it was weak and thready. Whipping out his phone, he dialled 911 as he applied pressure to the deep cut on James' wrist and studied the discarded pill bottle on the floor.

"911, what's your-"

"Help, please, I think my friend tried to kill himself!" Thomas shrieked, starting to panic. Think? He knew damn well what James had intended to do. "He-he cut his wrist really deep and took a whole bottle of Vicodin, about 20. The address is 51 Independence."

"Stay calm, sir," the operator said. "Is he breathing?"

"Barely. Please send help?"

Thomas wad surprised to find himself crying in anguish. Maybe he was in shock or something.

"Someone's been sent," the woman replied kindly. "Stay with him..."

The paramedics arrived after a few minutes, racing in stabilise James and keep him breathing. One of them put his arm around Thomas, and the Virginian burst into tears, shaking madly.

"He's in shock," the paramedic whispered, leading Thomas to the ambulance, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and handing him a squishy plastic cup of water.

"He'll be fine," the paramedic reassured him as he took a shaky sip. "You did the right thing."

James was rushed into the ambulance and they sped towards the hospital.

Thomas took out his phone, trembling as he texted his mother.

 **Thomas: Ma, can you come to the hospital? xx**

The response was almost instant.

 **Mum: OMG WHAT HAPPENED ARE U OKAY?????**

 **Thomas: I'm fine just a bit shaken. U know the Madison boy from school? xx**

 **Mum: Yeah? xx**

 **Thomas: I went round to talk about the English project and he'd tried to kill himself. I'm in the ambulance with him now. He can't afford the bills, can I pay for them? I have like $10,000 in ny account xx**

 **Mum: I'll be right there, of course you can pay the bills, I'll put some money into ur account for it xx**

Satisfied, Thomas put his phone as he realised they were at the hospital.

"I think you should read this," one of the other paramedics, a female one this time, said, passing him a note. Thomas read it, and immediately dropped his head into his hands.

"I feel awful," he cried. "If I hadn't-"

"If you hadn't gone round, he'd be dead," she said gently. "He's very lucky; you probably saved his life."

But Thomas wasn't listening as he suddenly realised something.

"I love him too," he proclaimed. "I-I just figured it out."

"You'll have to tell him when he wakes up."

Everybody heard the silent _if._

Thomas headed into the lobby, where he saw his mother waiting for him (they lived around the corner, see). She ran straight over to him and tackled him in a hug, only reaching up to his chest. He sobbed into her shoulder, holding her close.

"Oh, baby," she whispered, rubbing his back as she pulled him over to one of the hard plastic chairs, wiping his tears away with a gentle thumb. "Oh, you've got blood on your t-shirt, darling."

He looked down in surprise to see a deep crimson stain on the magenta material, the sight of it bringing back the memory of James lying on the floor, bleeding out onto that dirty carpet... the waterworks started all over again as he shuddered.

"I-I was so scared, Mama," he mumbled as she cupped his face with her hands. "I-I walked i-in and he-he was j-ju-just lying there, b-blood everywhere..."

He couldn't stop stammering, even when he pulled himself over to the receptionist to register James' details. Well, what he knew, anyway.

"Charge it to the Jefferson account," he told the receptionist when they got to the issue of insurance: James had none. He'd managed to speak normally again.

"Where is my son!?" someone suddenly yelled despairingly. Thomas turned to see a thin, dirty-looking woman rush in, looking around wildly. A doctor came out, steering her towards James' room.

"Mrs Madison, come in," he said in a calm manner. "They brought him in a half an hour ago, he lost a lot of blood-"

"Is he alive?"

"Yes. But you have to understand, the pills may have caused a lot of damage-"

"Can I see him, please?" She was almost sobbing.

"I'm doing everything I can, but he's currently being stabilised and asleep. I can't let you in yet."

She spotted Thomas over from the other side of the lobby and rushed over to him, almost knocking him over in a hug.

"You saved my boy," she murmured into his ear, and Thomas was surprised to hear a Virginian twang to her voice. "Bless you, Thomas Jefferson. Bless you."

"I've paid for this," he replied as she pulled away, wiping her eyes. She beamed at him. Thomas' mother joined them, putting her arm around Thomas.

"Mrs Madison, I'm so sorry that we had to meet like this," she said, offering a hand to her. Eleanor took it tentatively. "Jane Jefferson. Thomas told me."

"Eleanor," she said shyly. "Your boy saved mine. I can never repay you."

"You don't have to," Thomas cut in, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I-I'm going to ask him out."

The two women squealed madly, Jane almost suffocating her son with how tight she hugged him. Their conversation was cut off when the doctor came out.

"He's waking up a little," he said. "You can see him."

They all rushed into the room. James was hooked to a million different machines, and there was an oxygen mask over his mouth. His eyes were flickering slightly, and the bandage around his wrist was thick.

"Wake up, baby," Eleanor whispered, clasping James' hand. "Mum's here, darling."

His eyes opened fully, and he looked sadly at her.

"Ma..." he croaked out, tears pouring out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she reassured. "There's someone here to talk to you."

She stepped away to let Thomas talk.

"I-I don't know how to say this, so I guess I'll have to do it like this," he said, leaning forward. James pretty much threw the mask off, and their lips crashed together.

James Madison was complete.

 _Three years later..._

"Thomas?" James called nervously. "I did a thing..."

Thomas poked his head around the corner of the door. James could see that he was shirtless.

"Yeah, babe?" he said. James wordlessly lifted his arms to show the new cuts, looked ashamedly at the floor. Thomas came forward and swept him up in a hug, peppering him with kisses.

"It's okay," he whispered. "We can work on it."

James Madison was _not_ a freak.

888888

 **Hope you enjoyed this angst fest! Please drop a review if you enjoyed!**


	2. Nothing Big- Part 1

**I'm so sorry for this. My headphones broke and I was mad and I wanted to write angst. Enjoy... or don't, whatever, I'm sorry if you cry.**

888888

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

When the world all turns to shit, at least you know raccoons will always be there for you. Nothing but their big fluffy faces and round beady eyes staring up at you.

I'm Thomas Jefferson, if you don't know me. You probably don't. I'm just your average college student who eats way too much mac and cheese and wears far too much magenta. I have a best friend, James Madison, who, coincidentally, is also my boyfriend. Great, huh? He's great, he really is. He isn't here, though. I haven't told him; I didn't want him to worry.

Where am I, I hear you ask? Oh, I'm at the hospital.

I just found out I have cancer.

Cancer. It's a horrible word, isn't it? Who would've thought one six-letter word was enough to strike fear right to the very pit of your soul and bring your life crashing down before your very eyes? Certaintly not me. Of course, I know all about cancer. Doesn't everyone? I just never thought it would affect me.

The type of cancer I have is called Non Hodgkin Lymphoma. It's a cancer of the white blood cells, or so the doctor says. He tried to be reassuring, but hell, a quick Google search revealed it to be on a list for _Top Ten Most Deadly Cancers._ So basically, I'm fucked.

The doctor. He was nice. He gave me a few leaflets, told me to come back tomorrow and discuss treatment plans. He said to bring someone. Well, he'd said to bring someone today and I hadn't. I don't do what people tell me. You'll only ever get thrown in the dirt that way.

The symptoms, at first, didn't seem too serious. A cough, bit of a fever, abdominal pain. I assumed it was just a cold and spent a couple of days in bed before going back to classes. But I was just tired... all the time... I kept falling asleep in class, no matter how much sleep I got the night before. Then came the chest pain. That was a bitch. When I started losing weight even though I was actually eating more- it was finals month and I stress eat- I knew something was up. I told James I was going to the store and went to the nearest free clinic. It couldn't be too bad, right? I was probably just being paranoid.

The doctor I saw at the clinic isn't the doctor I have now. The doctor I had at the clinic listened to my symptoms, gave me a quick look over and called for backup. That's when I started to get scared.

The backup doctor is the doctor I have now. "Don't worry," he told me when he came in. "Yes, I am an oncologist, but it's just a precaution." Some fucking precaution.

The other doctor whispered something to the oncologist, who nodded and snapped a pair of gloves on. Then he asked me to take my t-shirt off and hold my arm up. I did so, joking that I was taken. He didn't laugh.

Apparently there was a swelling under my arm. I hadn't noticed it. They took a biopsy, and told me they'd call me when they had the results. Which was today.

The doctor, Washington, I think his name is, called me this morning. He sounded worried.

"Son, I need you to come in," he told me. I stiffened in my position in our dorm bathroom. James didn't need to know.

"Why?" I asked nervously.

"I'll tell you when you get here," he said after a pause. "I'd bring someone with you."

I hung up.

Walking back into the dorm, I grabbed a bag with some spare clothes and my school books in. You never know.

"I'm just heading out," I called to James. He was bundled up in bed with a cold.

"See you later," he called feebly. "Get some cough drops. The-"

"Blackcurrant ones, I know," I cut in. I was already out of the door.

It only took ten minutes to get to the hospital. When I got there, Washington was waiting for me in the lobby. Uh oh. That couldn't be good.

"Special escort?" I asked at a feeble attempt at humour. Nothing. No chuckle, no mouth twitch. Nada, zilch, zero.

He lead me to his office, and asked me to take a seat. It was fairly comfortable, more of an armchair than anything. He sat across from me, his hands folded on the desk. He looked grave.

"How come you're alone?" he asked, eying me carefully. "Your girlfriend busy?"

"Boyfriend," I corrected. He smiled warmly at me. "Um, he's sick." Washington's face fell. "Cold."

"You may want to brace yourself," he said gently. "Mr Jefferson, I'm afraid you have cancer."

Bam. No warning or anything. Well, technically there was, but not a proper warning! I just sat there, staring at him like a gormless fish.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" I stammered after a few moments. If I'm completely honest, I didn't believe him. I thought he'd jump up and laugh, and Alexander Hamiltrash would jump out of the closet yelling _psyche!_

"The type of cancer you have is called Non Hodgkin Lymphoma," Washington continued, his voice soft and comforting. "It's a-"

"I don't want to hear it," I cut in, my bottom lip trembling as my eyes filled with unwanted tears. "Do I have to do chemo?"

He nodded sadly.

"And radiotherapy," he added.

"Will I lose my hair?"

"I'm afraid so," he said hesitantly. I don't know why, but that was the thing that set me off sobbing. I love my hair. James loves my hair as well. He says my hair is the third reason he loves me, after my charming personality and, I quote, "my cute-ass little face". Would he still love me as much when I was sick all the time, and tired, with no hair and unable to do anything for myself?

I curled as best I could into a ball on the chair, ugly-crying into my knees. Hey, I know crying's not supposed to be _manly_ or all that shit, but I just found out that I have cancer. Cut me some slack.

"Son, I'm so sorry," Washington told me gently. He was out of his chair now, standing next to the chair with a hand on my shoulder. I clambered up and hugged him, craving the human contact. I felt him tense for a moment before he returned the gesture.

"Sorry, I'm being stupid," I muttered, untangling myself and pacing the room.

"You're not being stupid," he replied, stopping me and pressing a few leaflets into my hand. "Hey, survival rates are soaring up. You've got a great chance of beating this thing."

"How do I tell my family?" I blurted. "School? My friends? My boyfriend?"

"It's all in leaflets," he said simply. "Go home tonight. I'd tell your partner: he'll be your rock through this. Come back tomorrow, we'll discuss treatment."

I nodded, heading towards the door.

"And Thomas?" he called. I looked momentarily back. "Bring him tomorrow."

I gave a small nod and walked out.

That's how I ended up here, sitting on a very damp bench outside of the hospital, very cold and watching a raccoon ransack the bins. It's just starting to get dark. James must be worried. I haven't gained the courage to go home and talk to him yet. He's been texting me non-stop.

 ** _3:43 p.m._**

 **Mads: Tom? Xx**

 ** _4:56 p.m._**

 **Mads: Tommy you've been out for hours r u okay? Xx**

 ** _6:28 p.m._**

 **Mads: Tom please answer me, I'm getting scared xx**

I sigh, glancing upwards. The cold night air is sharp on my cheeks, and I tug on my precious mop of hair before hauling myself up. I spot Washington coming out of the front door: he is clearly off for the day. I try to hide myself, but he spots me and hurries over, concerned.

"Are you okay, son?" he asks, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "You'll catch your death of cold sitting out here."

"I-I just wasn't sure how to face James," I mumble, wiping my running nose on my purple hoodie. James got it for me for my birthday last year. I love it. Washington gives me a sad smile and puts an arm around my shoulder again. The gesture is comforting. I like it.

"I'll take you home," he says and I nod. He leads me to his car and I get in the front. It's a nice car, a red Sedan. I never noticed things like that before. Washington gets in the opposite side, starts the car and pulls out. "So where do I drop you?"

"Oh, um," I stumble over my words. "King's College, please. Just drop me at the gates." Then I swear and slap my hand to my forehead.

"What?" he asks, concerned.

"Can we stop at a pharmacy?" I say nervously. "It's just, James asked me-"

"Sure," he replys. "So, what are you doing at college?"

Conversation. Huh. Weird thing for a guy who told me I have cancer a few hours ago to engage in.

"Politics," I answer in a small voice. "So's James."

"What's James like? You talk about him a lot."

I do? Now I come to think of it, I do, don't I?

"Oh, he's awesome," I say. My voice sounds oddly dreamy. "He's really small, only comes up to my chest. And he has really short curly hair, and rich chocolate skin, and he's just got such a deep voice-" I catch sight of my goofy smile in the mirror and immediately start apologising. "Sorry, I must sound mental, I-"

"It's fine," he cuts me off, laughing. "You clearly love him. I was like that when I met Martha."

"Who's Martha?"

"My wife," he replies. God, now he has a damn dreamy smile as we pull up outside the pharmacy. I see the soft glow from the streetlight outside bounce off the glinting gold of his wedding ring. It looks pretty. Romantic.

I jump out, strolling into the shop and grabbing a bumper pack of cough sweets, blackcurrant flavour.

"James sick again?" a familiar voice says when I hand it to the cashier, eyes trained on the ground. My head snaps up, and a grin claws its way onto my face when I see Peggy "And Peggy!" Schuyler.

"Yeah," I reply sheepishly. At that moment, I start coughing violently into the crook of my elbow.

Damn cancer.

"Think you might need these as well," Peggy remarks as I try to hand over the money. She pushes it back at me. "No charge. It's on the house."

She gives me a light punch on the arm, and I shoot her a shaky smile before jogging back to Washington's car, slamming the door and beginning to cough again. I am ever-so tired again, even though I've done next to nothing today. We pull out.

Suddenly, I remember something and sit bolt upright from my slumped position. Grabbing my phone, I texted James back.

 ** _7:09 p.m._**

 **TJeffs: Sorry Mads, on my way back now xx**

His reply is almost instant.

 **Mads: Where were u? Xx**

I take a deep breath before I text back.

 **TJeffs: I was at the hospital. There's something I need to tell you when I get back xx**

888888

 **Hey, I'm kicking myself for leaving it here. Suspense, my children, suspense... hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it (which was, surprisingly, a lot).**


	3. Nothing Big- Part 2

**Enjoy this chapter!**

888888

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

James is waiting for me when me and Washington get back.

That's right, I've asked Washington to come back with me to the dorm. If I am going to tell James, I want backup. I don't know why. Maybe I'm just an idiot. I don't know.

"Why were you at the hospital?" he begs as soon as I open the door, launching himself at me. There are the ghosts of tears on his cheeks, and I feel guilty as I hug him back. Washington hangs off to the side. "Why did you lie to me?"

I pull away, looking to the ground. His voice is trembling, and tears come to my eyes as I think of my horrible fate. How will he react? Will he leave me? Washington has come forward now, and I can see him shaking James' hand out of the corner of my eyes. I shut them.

James is leading me into the living room now, sitting me down on the couch. I open my eyes again. James is looking at me with concern, and Washington is standing in front of us. Looking around this dorm I know so well, our double bed, sofa and TV in one room and a microwave, portable cooker and mini-fridge in the other, my mind wanders. It's small and cosy, but I like it. There are books and tissues strewn all over the floor, and I feel embarrassed that Washington had to see the dorm in the such a state.

Washington is talking now, but I'm blocking it out. I know what he's saying. I hear James gasp, and I close my eyes again.

"Tommy? Is this true?" he says. He sounds... broken. Just broken. I hesitate. "Because if this is a joke, I swear I won't speak to you for a week."

"It's true."

My voice is weak and quiet, barely audible, but it's there. Tears fall onto my cheeks, and James' arms are around me, I can hear him crying into my shoulder, Washington's trying to be comforting, it's all too loud, too overwhelming... I push James off of me and run out, all the way down the corridor to the communal bathroom and lock the door, crying the entire time, loud, ugly sobs that are too noticeable to be ignored. A few people have stuck their heads out of their doors, including Alexander Hamiltrash. Great. That's just what I need right now. Publicity.

There's a soft knock at the door. Not James, he knocks hard and loud so he can be heard. The sound is further up, too far for him, or anyone I know, for that matter, to reach. Washington, then. Great. Wonderful. Just fan-diddly-dastic.

"Son, come out," Washington's gentle, deep voice comes. It's soothing, in a way. Maybe that's why he's such a good oncologist. It's all in the voice, isn't it?

"What's wrong with him?" Hamilton calls from the end of the corridor. There are more footsteps, and I hear someone kneel down at the door. I curl into a tighter ball.

" _Mon ami_ ," the voice says. It is heavily tinted with a French influence- I'm sure the language gave it away- and I know immediately that it is Lafayette, my French cousin. He's over here to study. " _Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?_ [What's wrong?]"

" _Oh Laf, c'est horrible, tellement horrible, je ne peux pas te le dire ici, mais c'est mauvais, vraiment mauvais!_ [Oh Laf, it's awful, so awful, I can't tell you here, but it's bad, really bad!]" I sob, finally reaching up and unlocking the door. Laf rushes in and cradles me in his arms, letting me cry myself dry. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, but I'm in too much pain, both emotional and physical to care. Yeah, all this crying is really taking its toll on my chest. It hurts like hell, it's all tight and I'm gasping a little to breathe. Washington helps us up and back into my dorm, waving off the questions from the onlookers. Laf promises his boyfriend, Hercules Mulligan (James' cousin, actually) that he'll be back soon. The door closes.

James is stood in the middle of the living room/bedroom, his face in his hands. He's shaking, I can see. Laf looks from me, to James, to Washington and then back to me again. He seems scared.

"What's going on?" he asks in slightly broken English.

Washington tells him.

His mouth hangs open in shock, much like mine did. He looks just like me, he really does, except his hair is drawn into a messy bun. Herc looks like James, just taller. Much taller.

" _Ma cousine..._ [My cousin...]" he says, his voice hushed. I nod shakily, unable to stop trembling. James shuffles a little in his spot, a little further towards me. "You need to tell _Tante_ [Aunt] Jane and _Oncle_ [Uncle] Peter."

They're my parents. I shake my head, biting my lip. He asks me why. I just shake my head.

"Look, I have to go," Washington says as he checks his watch. He hands me a small piece of card. "Call me if you need anything, anything at all."

And then he's gone. The door closes, and I am alone with my two closest friends, scratch that, closest _human_ _beings_ I know.

"Oh baby," James finally says, bringing his face out of his hands. I take one look at him and burst into tears like a big ol' baby. He comes over and wraps his arms around me, and we just stand like that for a while, savouring each other's touch whilst we still could. Laf is sitting on the couch on his phone, texting someone. Then he puts the phone to his ear.

I get scared again.

James and I let each other go for all of 2 seconds whilst we sit down. My legs are tired, much like the rest of me. Then he pulls me onto his lap and lets me rest my head on his shoulder. I yawn.

Laf holds out his phone. It's on speaker.

"Tommy?"

I almost fall off of James' lap when I hear my mother's soft Virginian accent. She sounds upset, like she's crying.

"Yeah, Ma?" I reply in a small voice.

"Is what your cousin tells me true?" she asks. Her voice is shaking.

"Y-yes."

She lets a small scream slip, and I think I can hear her dropping the phone. There's just sobbing noises for a few seconds before there are hurried footsteps. Muffled voices, and then I hear my father.

"Tom," he manages to say before he starts crying as well. My father never crys. Never. This, actually, is the first time I've heard him cry. It's terrifying, and only reinforces my worst fears. "My son... oh my God, we're coming up to New York as soon as we can. Tonight."

"It's a 7-and-a-half hour drive, Dad," I sniffle. "Come in the morning."

"We're coming now," he answers. "We want to be with you."

That starts me off crying again. Both my mother and my father are shushing me soothingly, telling me that it's all going to be okay. I can hear my 17-year-old sister Martha asking what's going on. I think Randolph, my brother, who's 16, is there as well. Oh look, there's Lucy (22), Peter (15), Elizabeth (Lizzy, 13), Mary (10), Peter (7), Jane (6) and even little 4-year-old Anna. Mum tells Peter to take the younger ones out. She says that she'll tell him and Lizzy later. They're telling my siblings now. They gasp, and there's more crying.

"Hey, little bro," a new voice says. It's Lucy, the only one older than me. Even her voice is sodden with tears.

"Hey, big sis," I reply, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

We talk for a few minutes, recalled the good, the bad, the ugly, all the memories from our childhood together. She's coming up tomorrow. In fact, everyone except Mary, little Peter, Jane and Anna are coming. They're going to Grandma's.

They say they're leaving in an hour. I thank them, wish them a safe journey. Laf takes his phone back, gives me a hug and heads back to his dorm, still looking as if he's in shock.

Me and James lie together on our bed, wondering how we're going to get through this.

888888

 **Maybe I'm a mean person. Idk. This is gonna have like 5 or 6 parts, though. Also, I will take requests as break chapters. Go as nice or as angsty as you like, but no smut. I'll do stuff like rape, but it won't be explicit, only suggestive. Hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Nothing Big- Part 3

**God, I hate myself sometimes for writing this. Please enjoy.**

888888

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

Oh. Hey. It's you again. I've missed you, actually. It's been a week now, since the diagnosis, at least. Right now, I'm sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up to what is basically poison, but apparently it's going to help me. Sure. And Rhinos will stop being poached.

I suppose I better explain what happened after my family got here. They left Virginia around 9ish, so probably got to the city at about half 4 in the morning. Early, eh? I did tell them to leave in the morning, but they didn't listen. Me and James must have fallen asleep holding each other, because the next thing I knew it was 10 in the morning, James was gently shaking me awake and my family was hanging anxiously in the doorway.

I lifted my head groggily, still tired despite getting over 12 hours of sleep. Rubbing my eyes in an attempt to shake off some of the exhaustion, I turned my head to the side to see James smiling at me. I smiled back, and then clapped eyes on my family. The grin slid abruptly off my face as I was reminded of why they were here.

They all looked as if they'd been crying, their faces stained with the tell-tale streaks. Ma looked the worst, tears still in her eyes and trembling all over. I began to shake.

She rushed forward as soon as James stood away, tackling me in a hug. Instead of pushing her away like I normally did, I held her close, taking in the sweet coconut scent of her shampoo, the sophisticated perfume. A smell that could only be described as _mum_.

"Oh, my baby," she whispered in my ear, one hand on my hair. Unable to stop myself, I burst into tears again.

My father came forward now, wrapping his arms around me as well. Unlike normal, it wasn't awkward, just beautiful and natural. A family sharing their grief.

Lucy stumbled forward. She seemed tipsy, but when she hugged me, I smelt no alcohol, or pot, or anything, for that matter. Just her sweet perfume and her tears.

"It's not fair," Lizzy whispered suddenly from the doorway. We all looked over to her. She was stood in the middle of the room, right next to James, her fists clenched at her side. "Why does Tommy, one of the most pure and good human beings on this damn earth get cancer and horrible people like Osma Bin Laden and Donald Trump don't?"

She understands more than her crop top, black skinny jeans and Adidas superstars let on.

I sat up, drying my eyes on the back of my hand. Smiling grimly, I held out the leaflets to them. As they poured over them, I beckoned to James, who came and sat gently next to me, putting his arm around my waist.

"It'll be okay," he murmured to me. I smiled and nodded.

I didn't believe him. Not one little bit.

888888

The appointment was at 1.

I clutched Washington's card tightly in my hand as me, James and my mother walked up into the lobby. My father was staying with my siblings, getting the dorm ready and clean. I don't think the dorm's been properly clean since me and James moved in last year.

Washington was waiting for me again. He shook all of our hands, and I had to refrain from hugging him again.

"Is this your friend?" he said to me as we walked up to his office, motioning to my mother.

"My Ma," I replied shyly. James slipped his hand into mine, smiling supportively. We reached his office.

I sat in the plush armchair again, and my mother next to me. There was no other chairs, so I pulled James into my lap, surpressing a yawn.

"How have you been, Thomas?" Washington asked, his hands clasped as he leant forward over his desk. I shrugged.

"Did he really only find out yesterday?" my mother suddenly blurted. Washington nodded sadly.

"We'd like to start treatment immediately," he explained. "The type of cancer Thomas has is what we call High Grade Non Hodgkin Lymphoma, which basically the cancer cells grow faster, but luckily, we've caught it relatively early: it's still in Stage 1.

"We'll treat with a few rounds of chemo, the first one with a stay at hospital for a week or so, but the others can be appointments and then he can go home, and that will be 3 times a week. They'll also be 6 rounds of radiotherapy to target the cells themselves."

"I-is there any way to do it without the chemo?" I asked suddenly, frozen in my seat. Washington gave me a look as if to say _go on._ "I'll do the radiotherapy, I'll do everything else, but is there any way not to do the chemo?"

He shook his head sadly. I hate that. The sad head shake. I hate it almost as much as I hate this.

"Why don't you wanna do the chemo?" James said, his tone careful. I tried to explain it rationally, but I just ended up bursting into tears again as I imagined James leaving me, alone, with this horrible disease.

"Hey, what's up?" Ma said, alarmed, reaching over and putting a comforting hand on my arm.

"I-I don't wanna lose my hair!" I bawled, feeling utterly ridiculous. "B-because then James won't love me and I'll be all on my own and I don't wanna be on my own!"

James chuckled a little, leaning down and rubbing our noses together, wiping away my tears.

"I will love you no matter what," he said in a serious voice. "You know that, yeah?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, hugging him.

"Not all cancer patients lose their hair," Washington said. "This particular... cocktail of drugs has been seen as not causing too much hair loss, actually. Your hair might just thin or dull a little."

I was so overjoyed that I jumped up, accidentally throwing James off of my lap as I ran round and hugged Washington. He chuckled, patting my arm.

"I'll do it," I said confidently. James smiled at me as Washington gave us a few more booklets on the chemotherapy treatment, and shook my mother's hand, promising that he believed greatly in my survival, we left for home.

Getting so excited about not losing my hair.

It's the little victories that count, right?

888888

 **Hope you enjoyed. Sorry to those 2 who I know I've made cry. Please accept these apology hugs.**


	5. Nothing Big- Part 4

**Part 4 my dudes. A continuation from last time. Hope you enjoy!!**

888888

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

We went back the next day to start the chemo treatement. This time, everyone came. My siblings, my parents, James, Laf, everyone.

The university knows now. How else was I going to explain my long absences? I had to tell them. You don't understand. I _had_ to. It's not like I wanted to, is it? There's this little voice in my head that yells at me, day in, day out _why did you tell them? You shouldn't have told anyone! You should've just kept yourself to yourself. Idiot._

Idiot is a rather large part of my vocabulary. It's one of my top ten favourite words.

There's another voice, too. _You are an idiot_ , it says to me in a stern way. _Someone would figure it out anyway. Always sick? Spending weeks at the hospital? Going out 'studying' and coming back late at night? James would probably think you were cheating on him! He'd trail you, most likely, and find you at the hospital. That just causes more trouble than it solves. You did the right thing._

Needless to say, I much prefer the second voice.

Washington was very kind about the whole thing. He seemed surprised when 10 people showed up at his office door, but he was gracefully courteous and invited us all in. We were all packed in like sardines, James on my lap, my mother fussing over my overnight bag- did I have enough pyjamas? had I packed my toothbrush?- and my siblings, especially Lizzy, glaring daggers at Washington when he began to run us through the procedure. Some of the language was quite complicated, and Laf looked at me in desperation. I quickly translated for him. Washington looked impressed.

" _Bonjour, comme ça va?_ [Hello, how are you?]" he said. I raised my eyebrows in amazement.

" _B-bien, merci,_ [G-good, thanks]" Laf stuttered, smiling a little. Lizzy made a small noise far too much like a growl for my liking.

"So, are you happy with that?" Washington asked, turning back to me. I nodded, more than a little scared. "Now, you can have one per-"

"James," I blurted. "I want James."

I looked over to my boyfriend, and he nodded supportively. We went over the last few details, and it was time to go down to the room. My parents and siblings kissed me on cheeks, wishing me luck. Laf hugged me tightly. Just as they were about to leave, Lizzy whipped round, her straightened hair in a high ponytail cracking on her neck. She had her hands on her hips.

"You're lying!" she said accusingly to Washington, pointing at him. Washington tilted his head slightly sideways, and I froze. "Tommy doesn't have cancer, you're just lying because you want tons of money out of him and to make us all miserable!"

Oh, I wish that was true.

Washington gave her a small, sad smile, just like the one he'd been giving me.

"He's not lying, Liz," I said gently, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Surprising me, she started to cry, bowing her head and letting her arms drop to her sides. I pulled her into a hug, letting her sob into my shoulder until Washington gave me a small tap and gestured to his watch. "I gotta go," I told her, and she pulled away, wiping her eyes.

"Just stay alive," she said before walking away with Ma and Dad hugging her.

 _I'll try,_ I vowed. _I'll try_.

888888

"Look, if you need anything, anything at all, just call me," Washington said insistently. By this point, me, James and Washington were in my room. Yes, usually patients are put on a ward, but I was still on my family's insurance plan which was pretty exclusive. My family are _loaded_ , you see. I nodded quietly at him, my eyed glued to the pale blue bedsheets. I was already dressed in my pyjamas, and was scratching incessantly at my arm where I knew the IV drip was going to be.

I was nothing short of terrified.

Washington gave me one last smile before leaving, shutting the door quietly behind him. Me and James were alone for the first time in over 24 hours.

"So..." James said, his eyes also trained on the floor. It was more awkward than when Hindenburg thought he could control Hitler.

"So..." I repeated. We were silent for a few seconds before we both burst out laughing. Not like fake, awkward laughing either. Proper belly laughs, the type that make you double over, out of breath, stitch-inducing laughter.

"What is wrong with us!?" James gasped, clutching his sides.

"A-a lot!" I replied, giggling. "Do you want an itemised list?"

At that moment, a nurse came in, wheeling in the IV kit and a sealed bag. On it, a skull and crossbones was emblazoned, the biohazard symbol also. The bold black letters on the silver read _chemotherapy_.

The laughter was now gone.

"Hey!" she said in a chirpy voice, turning to me and James. "I'm Zoe, and I'm guessing you must be Thomas!"

I gave a small nod, clutching James' hand like a lifeline. He clutched back.

"This is James," I said quietly. James gave a small wave with his free hand.

"Well, as cute as you two are, I'm gonna have to ask you to stop holding hands for the moment," she said. Unwillingly, James untangled himself from me, still sitting as close as he could to me. I wimpered a little. Zoe came forward and took my arm, delicately prepping the vein.

"Sharp scratch," she said softly and slid the needle into my skin. It was more than a sharp scratch, I can tell. I yelped, my eyes watered and it took all of my self-control and James holding me down a little not to jump up and dart out of there. "Sorry about that."

"Me and pain are _not_ friends," I replied, glaring at her. She gave me a sympathetic look, and whispered something to James, trying (and failing) to discreetly hand him something.

"Press this button if you need any help," she said before sliding something up on the IV bag and gliding out.

 _0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes and 27 seconds_ _: the medicine begins to drip._

I didn't really feel any affect to start off. Staring at the _drip, drip, drip_ of the chemo, James was watching me intently. It was about an hour or so before I started to feel the side effects.

 _0 days, 1 hour, 18 minutes and 53 seconds: side effects kick in_.

"Oh God," I groaned, wrapping my arm around my stomach. James jerked up, his drooping head wearing an expression of concern.

"What, what?" he said, panicking a little.

"Nausea," I replied shortly, snapping my mouth shut. He gave me a look of sympathy, reaching over into the cabinet and grabbing an emesis basin. He held it to my chin: the curve fitted perfectly into my chest. It wasn't long until I started retching. James held my hair back, rubbing gentle circles into my back.

"Oh, baby," he whispered as I spat out the last remenants of my stomach contents.

It could only get better from here, right?

888888

 **Hope you enjoyed!! Please let me know what you thought!**


	6. Author's Note

**Ik I don't usually do just authors notes, but I felt it necessary for this review I got.** ** _From: Guest: Huh, If you don't have anything nice to say than do us ALL a favor and just don't say anything at all. I don't think it's Boring, But Just Pretty please DON'T write rape. PLEASE? :3_** **Fair enough if you don't like the story. Fine. I don't expect everyone to like it, do I? But I don't see how me asking people if they have any requests is not saying something nice!?! And you said it was boring in your last review. Look, seriously, if anyone knows who posted this, and if they have an account, please let me know?? If you don't like my story, just don't read it. Simple as. Okay?? Sorry about this rant, you don't have to read if you don't want to. I just wanna find out who this cowardly person is who can't even leave there account (if they have one) on. And if you don't want me to write rape, I won't.** **Also if you guys do have requests, just let me know!! Next chapter should be up soon! (Sorry for the bummer)**


	7. Nothing Big- Part 5

**I'm baaaaaaaaack. Please enjoy this chapter!**

888888

 _Jefferson's p.o.v_

Okay, in retrospect, I was wrong about the whole _it'll get better_ thing. Because I was so, so, so freaking wrong. More wrong than when I mistook Hamilton for a girl in a bar (before me and James got together and I realised I was bi) and started necking him. More wrong than a three-pronged fork. More wrong than I've ever been in my life.

The vomiting? Yeah, I suppose that was a bit of a bummer. Nothing like a bit of highly corrosive hydrochloric acid and partly digested food to take the edge off your day, right? It wasn't until the muscle cramps reared their ugly heads that I started begging James to take me off the medicine.

"Oh my God, unplug this damn poison!" I screamed, tears rolling down my face as the muscles in my arm began to contract violently, sending waves of fiery pain from the depths of hell crashing down my arm, all the way from my shoulder to the very tips of my fingers.

"I can't, baby, you know I can't," James replied, trying to wipe away my tears. More just kept coming. I reached up with a shaking hand, the one that wasn't cramping, and lay it on his cheek.

"I-I don't think I can do it," I said faintly, but James heard. His face fell.

"I know it's horrible," he whispered, stroking my hair back. I continued to shake. "But if you don't do this, you're..."

He stopped, steeling himself. "You're going to die!"

"I-I don't want to die," I sobbed, letting out a cry of pain. "I-I don't wanna leave you, Jemmy. I never wanna leave you!"

"You don't have to," he replied, crying himself now. "You don't have to, but you have to do this. For you. For me. For us, Tommy. For us."

I nodded, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. He reached over my head and pressed the call button. A nurse hurried in, not Zoe. Someone else.

"Can you give him some pain meds or something?" James asked as I squirmed, clutching my arm. She made a sympathetic face, but shook her head.

"I'm afraid we need clearance from Dr Washington to do that," she said, but I never heard most of it because I passed out from the pain and the sheer exhaustion.

I dreamed.

I dreamed about mine and James' wedding.

It was an outdoor wedding. A low-ish arch, a wicker wood with small daisies and lavender flowers weaved in. There was 5 rows of white chairs with satin bows on the back, and after the chairs, a summer-house-like thing. I was standing at the arch, my father's arm linking mine. James stood waiting for me at the end of the aisle, dressed in a beautiful black-and-white tuxedo, nothing too fancy, but showing off his fantastic figure. Daaaaamn, his butt looks good in that... anyway, I walked slowly down to him, feeling better than I'd felt in a long time. Y'know, a month being a long time. He'd smiled at me, and that's where it all disintegrates.

He suddenly gets further away, so far away. I try to run to him, but he never comes any closer. It's like running on a never-ending treadmill.

Words always swirl around my head, voices, all sorts...

Then I come to my tombstone.

It's a pretty freaky sight, seeing your own name there, on a piece of stone. That's it. That's all you get at the end of your days. A carved stone, whatever shady internet history you didn't delete and memories.

I have that nightmare every night now.

That first time, however, I was woken from it by a harsh light in my eye and a soft voice.

"Thomas?" it said. "Thomas, son, I need you to open your eyes for me."

Oh. Washington, then. I slowly cracked my eyes open to see his blurry face. James was hovering nervously at the side somewhere. Moving gingerly, I tested out my limbs, shaking them one by one. All there. All hurting, but all there. I was soaked in sweat, and I was still shaking a little.

"I don't like this," were the first words which tumbled out of my mouth.

Washington chuckled, helping me sit up and resting the back on his hand on my forehead. James came hurrying forward, taking my hand and kissing it.

"I don't like seeing you like this," he murmured.

"Go home," I said suddenly. He gave me a strange look. "I don't want to put you through this. Send my mother, my father, maybe, whilst they're still in town. Tell my siblings they can come visit when they feel like it, but if you don't want to come, you don't have to."

He smiled at me, and gave my hand a tight squeeze.

"I'll still visit," he promised as he gathered his things. I nodded, watching him as he left.

And I was alone with Washington.

"So not such a great first night, then," he said, trying to keep the mood and his tone jovial.

"He's gonna leave me," I whispered to the bedsheets before looking up at Washington and repeating a little louder, "He's going to leave me."

Washington's face softened and he gave me a soft hug. I leant into him, feeling almost traitorous to James.

"He won't leave you," he said, patting my back before straightening again. Unfortunately, the simple motion jarred my stomach and I barely had time to snap my mouth shut before it all came rushing up. Washington grabbed a basin and held it to my chin as I spewed everything, mostly bile, up. I hadn't even eaten anything! How did I have so much to throw up?

"Feel better now?" he asked, dumping the contents of the basin into a plastic bag and then dumping _that_ in the biohazard bin. I nodded a little, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

"How do you not get grossed out?" I asked as he bustled around, checking my heartrate, temperature, everything.

"What do you mean?" he replied, tilting his head to the side as the thermometer in my ear beeped.

"By all the blood and pus and sick and stuff? How?"

"Practice, I suppose," he shrugged. "You should've seen me when I first started out, squeamish at the first sight of pus."

"If you didn't like that stuff, why did you become a doctor, especially an oncologist?"

He stopped and thought for a moment before answering.

"The satisfaction, I suppose," he finally said. "True, you lose a lot of patients, but there's nothing better than telling someone that they've gone into remission and seeing the look on their face. It's the best thing in the world, better than money and all that crap."

I smiled at his sentiment.

"That's nice," I said. "You could make it into a cat poster."

He laughed this time, ruffling my hair good-naturedly. A nurse came in, wheeling a food trolley behind her. I grimanced involuntarily as Washington passed a bowl of sloppy-looking oatmeal to me, quickly followed by a glass of lukewarm orange juice.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, pushing the bowl away.

"If you don't eat, you'll feel even worse," he told me, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hey, just imagine it's your favourite food."

Look, I'm really tired and this is useless anyway. Can we finish this off tomorrow? Go haunt James for a bit, I give you my blessing.

Go on, scram!

888888

 **Hope you enjoyed! No chapter this Saturday or Sunday, I'm afraid, on a D of E expedition!**


	8. Nothing Big- Part 6 (07-20 11:36:13)

**Enjoy, ma dudes! A change in p.o.v for once, euyyyy!** **I am very sorry for being a bad author and not updating fooooor... Jesus Christ nearly 3 months. Please accept my apologies along with some tea and biccies. On with the story!!!**

888888

 _Madison's p.o.v_

WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT, I WILL- oh, Jesus. Sorry, you scared me. I wasn't sure who you were for a moment.

I'm guessing Tom sent you. Where did he catch you up to? Oh, that part. Right, well I guess I'll tell you what happened to me afterwards.

I left the hospital, feeling incredibly guilty, of course. Why couldn't I stomach it? Why couldn't I be strong for him? Sniffing deeply and reminding myself that having a full-on existential crisis was something better done in private, I decided to head to the one place that didn't have any of Thomas' family. Somewhere I sort of associated with him, but more with stupidly long essays and boring lectures.

I went to school.

In some miracle, I managed to get there for 10 a.m, just in time for the lecture about the constitution? I don't know, I can't remember now. Anyway, it wasn't a lecture as such. We all came in and sat down, but our normal professor Mr Macnamara didn't show up. Instead, the _head of the entire college_ Ms Betsy Ross stood up in front of us. Furtive glances and hushed whispers were exchanged. I slumped down lower in my seat in the corner at the bag.

"Hush, hush, the sooner this finishes, the sooner I can get out of here," she said, sighing heavily. Everyone shut up pretty quickly after that.

"Know what this is about?" Lee hissed at me, who was sitting next to me. I shrugged, but I had a pretty solid idea of what it was all about.

"Now, many of you here know of Thomas Jefferson," Ms Ross began, looking sombre and solemn. My suspicions were correct, then.

"Big poofy hair, always wearing purple, going out with that Madison kid, who doesn't?" I heard someone mutter. I slid down further in my seat.

"Well, um... there's no easy way to say this... he has cancer."

A collective gasp flew round the room. I felt all eyes on me, but I just screwed my own eyes shut and concentrated on the silence.

"I-is he going to be alright?" someone called. I was surprised to recognise Hamilton's voice.

"He should be just fine," Ms Ross said, and I looked up just in time to see the simpering smile on her face. "Now chop chop, back to your lessons!"

People began filing out in shocked silence, only a few whispers flying around. People kept looking back at me, but I glued my eyes to the floor as I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder and walked down the stairs, concentrating very hard on not tripping over my own two feet and embarrassing myself in front of everyone.

Just as I went past her, Ms Ross caught me by the shoulder.

"James, dear, I know you're close to Thomas," she told me. "If you ever need anything, just tell someone, okay?"

"Okay," I murmured, giving her a small smile before moving back on my path.

It turned out that there was a whole group of people were waiting for me. John Laurens with his arm around Hamilton's waist, all three of the Schuyler sisters along with Lafayette and Hercules. Laf looked ragged and tired, his eyes still a little red. I gave them all a sad grin.

"James, sweetie, we're all so sorry," Eliza cooed, pulling me into a hug. I gratefully returned it, and we started down the corridor.

"Why are you sorry?" I asked, my voice good-natured. "It's not your fault."

"'Ow is 'e doing?" Laf said, his voice trembling. Herc squeezed his hand to let him know it would all be okay.

"He's... he's not the best," I said after a long pause. Laf whimpered and I backtracked furiously. "No, no, no, he's not like that. He's just struggling a little with the side-effects of the medication."

Laf nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.

"Have you seen him, then?" Laurens asked.

"I stayed with him last night," I said before swearing loudly and slapping my hand to my forehead, much to the confusion of my friends. "Fuck, I need to text Thomas' mum and ask her to go up to the hospital to keep Tom company."

I pulled out my phone and shot a quick text at Thomas' mother.

 **Mads:** _Hey, Mrs Jefferson, could you please go up to hospital to keep Thomas company? I've got school, but I'll drop by later_

The answer was almost immediate.

 **MrsJ:** _Of course dear_

 **MrsJ:** _And call me Jane_

Feeling honoured, I made my way to my first class.

888888

It was almost 3 o'clock by the time I got back to the hospital. Jane was sitting at the side of Thomas' bed, looking tired and groggy. Hardly surprising. She was driving all night, and with the worry and everything I guess it was a little hard to sleep. Thomas himself was completely conked out, so conked out that he didn't hear me open the door, that he didn't hear me close the door with an accidental bang, and he didn't even hear me stumble into the side then jump around swearing and clutching my hip.

And this is the man who usually wakes up if a leave rustles a tiny bit half a mile away.

Giving Jane an apologetic look, I took a seat on the other side of Thomas' bed, pulling out my notebook and trying to get a start on my essay on the history of British politics, but I couldn't concentrate, not with my boyfriend, the love of my life lying there fast asleep because he's exhausted from chemo treatment because he has fucking cancer.

I know I keep reassuring him and telling him it's all going to be okay, but how can I keep doing that if I can't even fully believe it myself?

888888

 **OMG I'M SO SORRY GUYS I DIDN'T MEAN TO NOT UPDATE FOR SO LONG. I just had no inspiration, but I finally got some. I'm on 6 week holidays now, so I might be able to get a lot more. Hope you enjoyed this (very) late chapter!**


	9. Nothing Big- Part 7

_Jefferson's p.o.v_

It's nearly 1 p.m now. My room is deserted, apart from me, obviously, and for once I'm sort of glad for the solitude. This past week has been a torrent of affection and pity, and I really need a break from it.

My family has gone home now. The younger ones have to go back to school, and Dad does have a job. They only left yesterday, but I already miss them. Laf is still here, though.

James has come every day for as long as they'll let him. He can't bear to stay the night, though. I can tell that he desperately wants to, but the sight of me upsets him, I think. I understand. The sight of me would upset me too.

My hair is horribly limp, having lost most of its bounce. Crusts are forming around my lips and they won't disappear however much you scrub them or pick at them. If you pick at them, both your doctor and your boyfriend slaps your hand away and scolds you. Only one of them is cute.

I suppose I've sort of got used to the throwing up now. The diahorrea is possibly the most horrible thing in existence, and I'm tired all the time, which is bizarre because all I do is lie there and daydream. Or watch YouTube videos. Or Netflix and chill when James comes.

We're watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine today. Well, the end of Season One, anyway. It's the highlight of my day. It's the only thing I have to look forward to, isn't it?

All of a sudden, there is a gentle knock on my door. I haven't realised that I'm falling asleep, so my head jerks up and I look around the room. It's just as empty as it was before. Then I realise that the sound must have come from the door and grunt to signal that they can enter.

Washington tentatively sticks his head round the door, smiling at me. I move the bed into an upright position and grin back as best I can.

"How are we doing today?" he asks as he comes forward, shutting the door with his foot and sitting next to my bed.

"You know what, not too bad," I reply, resisting the urge to rub the sores on my lips. "No diahorrea today, so that's always a bonus."

Washington smiles again, and we begin the madatory checks. Y'know, temperature, heartbeat, blood pressure, the norm.

"James coming round later, then?" he says as he pumps the blood pressure cuff.

"Of course," I answer, trying to refrain from sneezing. For some reason the blood pressure cuff sparks something in my brain that makes me want to sneeze. "We're watching Netflix again."

"It's nice to see you two relaxing," Washington tells me, glancing down at the reading then back up at me. "Most visitors are usually more riled up than the patients themselves! James seems very calm about the whole thing."

"At least he can _appear_ calm," I mutter, eyes sliding to the side. "Me, I can't even manage that."

"Well, it's understandable, I suppose," he muses as he starts to pack his equipment away. "This huge thing has suddenly come along and the world turned upside down for you. One could allow a bit of a freak-out on your part."

"Great, thanks for capturing my pain so articulately."

He laughs a little, moving towards the door.

"Just don't wear yourself out like last time."

My face heats up and I look to the floor.

"You heard that?" I mumble. He laughs again.

"Thomas, the entire floor heard you."

He waves a little. "Don't forget to use protection!"

"It wasn't-!" I try to call after him, but he's already gone.

Honestly, it wasn't what you think! I just... I had a really bad itch on my back and James was hitting just the right spot, okay!? Happy now? Course you are, you smug bastard.

Sorry. Mood swing.

The door creaks again, and this time I know it's James from the slight shadow on the wall and the way the door opens. When you have one thing to look forward to, you learn a fuckton about that thing.

"Jemmy!" I squeal a little too desperately before he's even in the room. Sad, huh?

"Hey, Tommy," he says, coming into the room. He sounds tired and looks exhausted as he sits on the edge of the bed. "Sorry I'm a bit late."

"You're not-" I start to say, but then I look at the clock. It's half 2. When did it get the half 2!?!?! I must've zoned out big-time. "It doesn't matter, you're here now. Did you bring the laptop?"

"Yeah," he smiles, pulling it out of his bulging bag. "I brought a surprise."

Then he pulls a projector out of his bag! I gasp, taking it from him and turning it over in my hands.

"This is incredible!" I gush, handing it back to him so he can plug it in. "When did you get it? How?"

"Well, you know how Mr Macnamara always has those boring lectures in the massive hall?" he says. I nod. "Well, I just asked him nicely and he gave it to me!"

He flicks the lights off and shuts the curtains, hooking up the laptop. Soon the Netflix symbol appears on the wall. He plugs in a couple of speakers, he lies next to me and we start watching.

"This is nice," I murmur into his hair. "Just wish it didn't have to happen here."

He looks up at me.

"I promise you that this time next year, we'll sneak into Mr Macnamara's lecture hall and we'll do this there," he says, sounding dead sincere. "And you'll be in complete remission. I promise."

Don't make promises you can't keep, James.

888888

 **Wow, look at that. I managed to write another chapter within a month. Victory! Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
